Menticulture Blog

Swiss-army Knife

1983: At my grandmother's house, and big sprawling family - uncles, great-uncles, aunties, babies, cousins, great-grandmother, mother, a clan numberless. For christmas, I got a pop video annual with David Bowie and the Police in it, and a swiss-army knife from my dad, who had come early that year.

I have photos from that day, where I sit next to my great-uncle (he was a great uncle, he said 'well, I don't know...' and when he said it, it meant 'isn't the world an amazing place?'). He held a child in his arms, looking as though about to fall, a shy look on his face. I remember aluminium steamers full of sprouts and carrots, and steam everywhere.

The swiss-army knife lasted for years. It opened tins when I hitch-hiked to Frankfurt 7 years later, and sliced dirty cheese on trips with my friends to camp-sites in the wet English summer. The cork-screw broke quickly though, before I was supposed to use it. Sat in my fist like a knuckle-duster. It's gone now, like so much else from that day.